Our Great Hearted Men

Contents

List of Maps

Chapter 1Michael

Chapter 2Sharpening the tools

Chapter 3An enormous intellect

Chapter 4The physical audacity

Chapter 5. . . so I drove over them

Chapter 6. . . the finest fighting day I have yet had

Chapter 7. . . the enemy’s inevitable reaction

Chapter 8Our horses hated it and whimpered

Chapter 9. . . an ignorant, wonderful lot of fools

Chapter 10. . . a stunning achievement

Chapter 11. . . some damn good men amongst them

Chapter 12. . . one dead man to every 2 yards of trench

Chapter 13The equal of any

Chapter 14. . . great-hearted men

Photo Section

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

Appendix I: Classification of BEF Field Artillery

Appendix II: Conference of 31st July, 1918

Appendix III: Letter, Bean to White, 28 June 1918

Abbreviations

Endnotes

Index

About the Author

Copyright

List of Maps

The Western Front, March 1918

Operation Michael

Hamel, 4 July 1918

Battle of Amiens, 8 August 1918

Amiens, 9–11 August 1918

The Pursuit, 22–29 August 1918

Frontal Attack, 29 August 1918

Mont St Quentin, 31 August 1918

Mont St Quentin—Péronne, 1 September 1918

Mont St Quentin—Péronne, 1–5 September 1918

The Hindenburg Line

The Outpost Line Attack, 18 September 1918

The Hindenburg Line, 29 September 1918

The Australian Corps—Ground Captured

CHAPTER 1

Michael

Lieutenant George Mitchell, 48th Battalion, Saturday 23 March 1918:

Order to prepare to move. I stand in the sun. A stout, old Frenchman sows his field, broadcasting steadily up and down. All with us is activity. What matter the personal shock of combat to him. I anticipate it all. The roar of shells, the wounds, the stink of explosives, and the eternal yabbering of machine guns. The farmer steadily goes on with his sowing. We go to the reaping.¹

By March 1918 Lieutenant George Mitchell and many veterans of the First AIF had, during a succession of bloody and costly battles, confronted their ‘reaping’ for nearly three devastating years. Mitchell, and many like him, had despaired of their chances of seeing home again. And yet as volunteers they had a quiet, resigned acceptance of their fate:

England is England . . . I want something that I have not got . . . The return to Australia is unreal, and, after all, do we really desire to go back without the laurel crowning of Victory? Better death than final defeat . . . You may never know what home is unless you pay the price of the learning . . . Great battles that we fought through are forgotten in the stormy host. Our pals went under. ‘And the old days never will come again.’ . . . New battles came. We lived. Yet more battles. We still live. And the future holds visions of more and more strife . . . We will meet our fates with good grace, for it is written in the Book of Eternity.²

As Mitchell left for the front on 23 March 1918, he was destined to face a part of the final major German offensive of the war—and a near calamity. He could not have contemplated that later, within a mere 100 days, the Allies would turn a desperate defence of the British Expeditionary Force’s (BEF) very survival on the Western Front into a comprehensive victory.

This is the story of arguably the First AIF’s finest hour—five elite divisions together at last as a united corps, under its own experienced, astute leadership and commanded by an Australian general whose considerable appreciation of the science of war, coupled with studied innovation, an understanding of logistics, and minute planning, would prove brilliant.

***

At the onset of the winter of 1917–18, as both sides considered the future of the Great War, one concept, embodied in one word, dominated their thoughts—manpower.

Since late August 1916 General Erich Ludendorff had, as Field Marshal Hindenburg’s Chief of Staff, exerted the prime influence upon the German conduct of the war. Tall, red-faced, with cropped hair and a monocle, and possessing a heavy physique, Ludendorff had a typical Prussian officer appearance that belied his humble background: he had not risen through the ranks by the accident of birth or the cultivation of influence, but by hard work and merit.

On 11 November 1917 at a conference at Mons, Ludendorff had to make a critical decision. Although Russia had been knocked out of the war and German troops and equipment were being rapidly transferred to the Western Front at a rate of some two divisions a week, that encouraging news was counter-balanced by a number of grim realities: 1917 had seen the German Army suffer over 1 million killed;³ the strategy of unrestricted submarine warfare had failed, and failed to such an extent that it had brought the United States into the war; and the ongoing British blockade of Germany had been far more effective, and had resulted in acute food and fuel shortages that were undermining morale at home, and as a consequence, political discontent and strikes were becoming more prevalent.

Time was the key. Ludendorff understood that other than the injection of divisions currently arriving from Russia to the Western Front, his only other source of manpower would be those males reaching military age in 1918. Late in 1917 Ludendorff had possessed around 150 divisions against the Allies’ 175. By March 1918, using his divisions arriving from the Eastern Front, he anticipated that he could deploy 192 divisions to the Allies’ 173 on the Western Front.⁴ Any German offensive in 1918 would therefore have to be delivered in the spring, before the American build-up of troops would eventually overpower his army. This sudden and rapid accumulation of German troops would facilitate one, and only one, substantial offensive—there would be no second chances. Knowing that he could now concentrate his force, and having determined the timing of the offensive, Ludendorff was then faced with a key strategic and tactical challenge.

He had always considered the British to be the ‘driving force of the Entente, and the offensive must therefore be directed against them’.⁵ Thus, three plans to attack the BEF were examined: the first was against its junction with the French near the German-occupied town of St Quentin (codenamed Michael); the second was at Arras (codenamed Mars); and the third envisaged an attack in the Ypres area to the north (codenamed George). Despite differing opinions of some members of both his staff and those commanders about to undertake the operation, Ludendorff chose Michael, because he rightly believed that this was where the British front was stretched, undermanned and therefore most vulnerable, and that the ground on which that operation was to be fought might dry out quicker than the other two options. His strategic aim was to break through the British front, swing in a north-westerly direction and either destroy the BEF in battle or force its evacuation to the Channel ports. He ordered plans for all three alternatives to be made, so as to conceal his intention from the British, but also to facilitate other options should the operation become stalled. If, by Great War standards, Operation Michael was an ambitious strategic plan, its tactical execution would fly in the face of all previous doctrine—of either side.

Ludendorff’s choice of his three army commanders was astute. In the north, General Otto von Below and his Seventeenth Army were tasked with the capture of Bapaume; in the centre General von Marwitz’s Second Army was to capture Péronne; and General von Hutier’s Eighteenth Army was to penetrate the British line at St Quentin, capture the town of Ham, and then provide flank protection as von Below and von Marwitz’s armies thrust right (towards the north-west). All three had earnt Ludendorff’s trust: von Below had served under him in 1914 and had—among other notable successes—only a month before the conference at Mons, been the victor against the Italians at Caporetto (October–November 1917); von Marwitz had planned and executed the brilliant counter-attack against the British at Cambrai; and von Hutier, after a most impressive Western Front record, had further enhanced his reputation with the capture of Riga on the Eastern Front (3 September 1917). Thus, all three German Army commanders possessed not only sound long-term records, but highly impressive recent ones.

As with any Western Front offensive, a vital component of the operation would be the artillery. To plan that support for Michael, Ludendorff chose Oberst (Colonel) Georg Bruchmüller, whose skills had been first recognised prior to the German attack on Verdun in 1916, and had, since that time, been the artillery advisor to the Supreme Commander on the Western Front. The first prerequisite for success would be surprise, and that meant there must be studied staff work to disguise both the build-up of men and matériel, and, importantly, there could be no preliminary artillery bombardment. Bruchmüller and Ludendorff decided that the artillery barrage for Michael would have five main features: it would have to cover the breadth of the front; they then had to decide upon the duration, concentration and accuracy of the barrage; and they had to be prepared to be innovative in the use of gas.

Across a front of 31 miles, the Germans deployed 6473 guns—3965 field guns, 2435 howitzers (5.9 inch), and 73 super heavies⁶—which provided a density of one gun to every eleven yards. Charles Bean, The Australian Official Historian:

Ludendorff increased the front of his offensive by making it discontinuous: the face of the new British salient at Flesquières, opposite Cambrai, on the right centre of the front of the offensive, was not to be attacked. The Seventeenth German Army [General von Below] would strike north-west of it . . . the Second and Eighteenth Armies [Generals von Marwitz and von Hutier] south of it . . . the salient itself would be pinched out by these attacks.⁷

This ploy increased the front to 44 miles. This was the largest concentration of guns yet seen on the Western Front. The artillery would provide a ‘hurricane’ bombardment of some five hours’ duration; to give all possible depth to his artillery barrage, Bruchmüller brought his guns up as close as possible to the infantry start line; the heavy guns were to target key communication points such as road intersections, infantry assembly areas and enemy headquarters; and Ludendorff further added a comprehensive light and medium trench mortar barrage that would move with the infantry.

But it was a new sophistication in the use of gas that added another dimension to the artillery plan. Bruchmüller decided against the use of mustard gas (Yellow Cross)⁸, as its tendency to remain in the ground for up to two days might well cause it to also affect German troops during a decisive break-through. He therefore chose a mixture of phosgene (Green Cross) and a new gas called ‘lacrymator’. Phosgene was a high-density gas that severely impacted on the lungs, but the new bromine-based lacrymator gas was an irritant to the eyes, which ‘made it impossible to carry on without wearing a mask . . . [particularly for] harassed troops engaged in close fighting or in manipulating guns’.⁹ Thus, while Bruchmüller’s artillery would employ a conventional and concentrated barrage of high-explosive (HE) shells to destroy wire, trenches, combatants, artillery batteries and communications, the new gas mixture would inhibit the efficiency and therefore the performance of the British gunners. And this in some significant way, it was hoped, would compensate for the short ‘hurricane’ bombardment and its lack of registration.

If Ludendorff’s shrewd plans for the location of the break-in, for the concentration of his force, for a high degree of secrecy, and for his artillery innovation were impressive, then his infantry tactics for Michael were revolutionary for the times. Both German and Allied senior commanders on the Western Front had long experienced the initial exuberance of a break-in on an enemy line (usually at great cost). The next stage of success, repeatedly denied them, was a break-through, due to the perennial problem of ‘the diminishing power of the attack’. Following a heavy artillery bombardment, the infantry were usually able to occupy perhaps a mile or two—provided their flanks were secure—but the attack would then flounder as the enemy rallied in subsequent trench lines, enfiladed the attacker, concentrated and then committed his reserves, and brought his rearward artillery into play.

To achieve a comprehensive break-through, Operation Michael foresaw the use of three distinct waves—and types—of infantry. The first were the elite Sturmtruppen, carrying a preponderance of light machine guns and some flamethrowers, who were trained to either quickly eliminate British posts or simply outflank them and move on. The Battle of Cambrai had been the first instance of them being used in significant numbers. Advancing under a creeping barrage of around 200 yards every four minutes, these troops were tasked to maintain momentum. The second wave formed the bulk of the offensive. These were orthodox battalions that were to surround and eliminate those enemy posts not dealt with by the Sturmtruppen. The third wave’s main task was to assist in the momentum of the operation by providing substantial reinforcements. Each German divisional commander was allotted a corridor in which his objective was to be gained with the utmost speed regardless of activity on his flanks.

By following the surprise of his initial ‘hurricane’ artillery bombardment with a concentration of some 32 divisions with 25 in reserve, and an unconditional speed in movement, Ludendorff hoped to rapidly roll back the BEF’s lines and create havoc and confusion, with a consequent disruption to communications, command, artillery, reinforcement and supply. Michael was timed for 4.40 am on 21 March 1918.

***

In late 1917 the issue of manpower was no less a concern for the French and British than it had been for the Germans. The problem was that the two nations’ political and military leaders held conflicting views as to where and how their manpower might be best deployed.

After their protracted and costly defence of Verdun during the period February–December 1916, in which they had suffered some 410 000 casualties, the French Government and Army spent much of 1917 in upheaval. During the later stages of the fighting at Verdun, General Robert Nivelle had enhanced his reputation by leading counter-offensives that had largely rolled back the earlier German gains. In December 1916 Nivelle succeeded General Joffre as Commander-in-Chief (C-in-C) of the French Army. Fluent in English, Nivelle had the ability to charm political leaders in Paris and London alike. A fierce opponent of both General Sir Douglas Haig and Joffre’s ‘wearing-out’ or ‘attrition’ strategy on the Western Front, Nivelle devised a sweeping plan to force a break-through of the German lines and end the war. Its chief attributes were a concentration of some 27 divisions for the breakthrough and a creeping barrage, which would allow the French Army to both break in and subsequently break through—within an ambitious time frame of some 48 hours. Nivelle’s proposed plan was not universally accepted. Within a divided government, Premier Briand’s support of the offensive cost him his leadership on 17 March 1917. His successor was Alexandre Ribot.

To a number of politicians who had been the distraught witnesses to the grinding and costly battles of the Somme and Verdun, Nivelle’s recent success at Verdun and the promise of such a break-through were irresistible. The British Prime Minister, David Lloyd George, was greatly impressed by Nivelle and ordered Haig to subordinate himself to the French plan: Haig would attack the Germans at Arras.

The French attempts to mask their coming assault were pedestrian: thoroughly aware of the impending attack, the Germans reinforced their front, both in terms of men and guns; and, by employing their defences in depth, were able to exact a heavy penalty upon the French. In what has become known as the Second Battle of the Aisne (April 1917), Nivelle actually made some reasonable initial ground, but all this was lost in a sea of despair over his promise of victory within 48 hours.

The morale of the French infantry—and confidence in their leaders—was severely shaken by General Nivelle’s failed offensive. Mutinies occurred during May–June 1917, which saw units adopt varying methods of non-compliance: these included attacking officers on occasion; massing for demonstrations; drunkenness; and, primarily, refusing to conduct attacks. They were still prepared to defend, to hold the line, but participation in what they perceived as futile slaughter was another matter. Inevitably, on 15 May 1917, General Nivelle was replaced by General Philippe Pétain, and in early September Paul Painlev became the third premier of France for that year. In mid-November, Georges Clemenceau became the fourth.

By the end of 1917 the French had lost 1.28 million men killed during the Great War; the morale of the Army was at a low ebb, and there was obvious political instability. Pétain, who now had General Foch as his Chief of Staff, quickly instituted changes. First, there was the urgent need to restore the morale of the French Army. This was done by allowing a degree of leniency towards many charged over desertions and the mid-year mutinies, and the improvement of leave in terms of both its frequency and conditions. Pétain, Foch and the government then decided that major French offensives would have to wait, as the Army was in no condition psychologically or materially to mount them. However, a strong defence of the line would be maintained, coupled with any necessary limited attacks in the support of the BEF. They awaited what they believed would be two telling advantages in the coming year. The first was the projected build-up of manpower on the Western Front by the arrival of the American Expeditionary Force, and the second was to be the mass manufacture of specific implements of war: there was to be a significant increase in the production of their heavy artillery, smoke and gas shells, an improved and more numerous air arm, and, finally, the manufacture of some 3000 tanks.

***

David Lloyd George had had a long history of opposition to the Great War being decided on the Western Front. Small in stature, sharp-witted and shrewd, a persuasive, often inspiring speaker—and sometimes happy to bend the truth—he wanted to ‘knock away the props’ (defeat Germany’s less powerful allies), which he believed would be far less costly in casualties. As Minister of Munitions (1915–16) he had advocated sending British troops to the Balkans; from June 1916 as Secretary of State for War, he was appalled by the ongoing losses on the Somme (around 620 000 British, Dominion and French casualties); and as Prime Minister of the UK from 7 December 1916, he had been equally horrified by the bloodbaths and seeming futility of 1917 (the Third Battle of Ypres and the Battle of Cambrai totalled 346 712 British and Dominion casualties).

It was inevitable, therefore, that two of the Prime Minister’s sternest critics were the Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS), General Sir William Robertson, and the C-in-C Western Front, General Haig (promoted to Field Marshal in January 1917). Robertson had risen from the ranks to CIGS—most unusual in the British Army. A dour, thoughtful soldier, he was ‘not greatly interested in conversation, and even less interested in argument’.¹⁰ Perhaps Robertson’s greatest assets as CIGS were his loyalty to the Army in his dealings with politicians, and his steadfastness and trust in Haig. A cavalry officer, Haig shared two of Robertson’s personality traits: he was also dour and resolute. Haig was also a supreme optimist, and therefore prepared to push on in a campaign when circumstances appeared bleak. In terms of character, personality and their perceptions of how and where the Great War should be fought, Robertson and Haig were diametrically opposed to Lloyd George.

In his diary entry for 3 April 1918, Haig wrote: ‘L.G. seems a cur and when I am with him I cannot resist a feeling of distrust of him and of his intentions.’¹¹ Both Haig and Robertson believed that the war could only be won by the defeat of the German Army in France and Belgium. Haig in particular believed that a renewal of his Flanders offensive of 1917 would cause a final break-through, provided his now well-below strength army was reinforced sufficiently from available drafts in England. Haig passionately believed that all that was required was a firm resolve to complete the strategy of 1917. Lloyd George would have none of it, and was utterly determined to go on the defensive on the Western Front, bolster and possibly break through on other fronts where possible, and, most importantly, await the arrival of American troops in 1918. The Australian Official Historian, Charles Bean:

 . . . yet the Government did not feel itself strong enough to depose the two military leaders, who had much support in parliament and the nation, or, without some counteracting support, to decline to follow their advice. Lloyd George could not have secured unanimity in his cabinet for any such course; indeed, some of his conservative colleagues had made it a condition of their alliance that there should be no change in the military command. The result was that, in his endeavour to mould the Allies’ plans for 1918, he resorted to the indirect methods which were so strangely characteristic of him . . .¹²

There were a number of telling ‘indirect methods’ which were employed in late 1917 and early the following year. The formation of the War Cabinet in December 1916 had already been a concerted government attempt to bring the strategic conduct of the war under the control of the politicians. The best way to negate Haig’s desire for a resumption of his Flanders offensive was, quite simply, to deny him the necessary manpower to do so—despite the fact that the offensives of 1917 had caused the British Army on the Western Front to be some 95 000 soldiers below its normal establishment.

To further compound Haig’s problems, four other measures were adopted by Lloyd George and the War Cabinet. The first was to agree to a French appeal that the British take over a part of their front—the initial request was for a British occupation of the French Sixth Army six-divisional front from roughly east of Péronne to the River Oise. Haig protested and eventually secured a shortening of that line by the deployment of four rather than six of his divisions. The second measure involved Haig losing five divisions to the Italian front. The third, employed during late 1917 and early 1918, involved both the sacking of, and selection of replacements for, Haig’s GHQ staff. The changes were far-reaching. Among the many were a new Chief of Staff, Chief of Intelligence, Inspector General of Training and Transport, and a new Chief Engineer.

Lloyd George and the War Cabinet’s fourth method in wresting control of the conduct of the war on the Western Front from Haig and Robertson was the formation of a Supreme War Council. Formed in early November 1917, the Council comprised the prime ministers of Britain, France and Italy, a second political member from each country, and a permanent military representative from each (the United States was also allotted a military representative). By stipulating that the military representative must hold no other post, Lloyd George was therefore able to circumvent the influence of his CIGS, General Robertson. He appointed General Sir Henry Wilson to the Supreme War Council. It was Wilson who had suggested the formation of such a Council to Lloyd George. Charles Bean:

It happened that Sir Henry Wilson was at that time in England [late 1917], his restless intellect unemployed with any satisfying work upon the vital problems with which, like all other patriotic minds, it was incessantly grappling. He had warned Haig and others that, in these conditions, he would probably ‘get into mischief’.¹³

Very diplomatic. Bean might well have substituted ‘ambition’ for ‘intellect’ and ‘intrigue’ for ‘mischief’. Wilson was now in a position to decisively influence the course and conduct of the war directly through the prime minister and the War Cabinet, and thus, quite consciously, was the instigator in circumventing the power and influence of the professional head of the British Army: the CIGS, General Robertson.

A further significant initiative was planned by the Supreme War Council and endorsed by Lloyd George. In view of the fact that a German spring offensive was anticipated, if the present Allied manpower on the Western Front was to hold that line, a uniform Allied strategy must be planned and coordinated. There were two proposed mechanisms to achieve this. The first was to create a central reserve of 30 divisions whereby all three nations involved—France, Britain and Italy—would supply thirteen, ten and seven divisions respectively. It was also anticipated that the United States would supplement that reserve as its troops became available. In order to plan and execute the Allied strategy, and deploy the central reserve, the Supreme War Council also considered that the appointment of an Allied Commander-in-Chief would be desirable.

Generals Haig and Pétain were both against the first proposal. They argued that the number of allotted divisions was too high; that the brief time span between the acquisition of the general reserve and the likely German spring offensive made the venture too risky in the short term; and, critically, that each would assist the other with reinforcements depending on the location and strength of the German offensive. Such ‘assistance’ would be put to a severe test of national interest when Operation Michael was launched. The notion that there should be a C-in-C Western Front obviously appealed to the French, since such an appointment would more than likely be given to them, but Lloyd George could find very few British politicians—much less soldiers—who shared his desire to appoint a French C-in-C. Impending events would also cause a change to this attitude.

When General Robertson, after having been placed in an intolerable position, resigned on 11 February 1918, Lloyd George appointed Sir Henry Wilson as the new CIGS, with General Sir Henry Rawlinson as his Supreme War Council replacement.

As the German attack loomed, Field Marshal Haig knew that a spring renewal of his Flanders offensive was lost. The BEF now numbered some 57 divisions (including its ten Dominion divisions), and occupied a front of around 125 miles. Denied his requested reinforcements, he had been forced to reduce his brigades from twelve to nine battalions in each division. While this measure obviously stretched his limited manpower, it also impaired his ability to relieve units in the line and give them much-needed training.

Not only did Haig have no doubt that there would be a German spring offensive, but his intelligence as to when and where it would occur was quite accurate. On 16 February 1918, his new Intelligence Chief, General Cox, ‘gave a very clear account of the situation of the enemy’ and stated that ‘we must be prepared to meet a very severe attack at any moment now’. On 2 March Haig recorded that Cox had briefed him as to the ‘reasons why we think the enemy is preparing to attack on the fronts of our Third and Fifth Armies’.¹⁴ Haig remained confident and told his Army commanders to be ‘ready as soon as possible to meet a big hostile offensive of prolonged duration’. The next day he recorded that ‘Troop movements and prisoners’ statements all indicate that an offensive on a big scale will take place during the present month.’ And on 19 March 1918—two days before Michael—he received ‘reports on the examination of certain prisoners showing that the enemy’s intention is to attack about March 20th or 21st’.¹⁵

In his defence of the BEF’s 125 miles of the Western Front, Haig’s chief focus was his northern flank and its protection of the Channel ports. Deployed in this area was General Plumer’s Second Army, occupying a line of 23 miles with nine divisions at the front and five in reserve; in its central portion of the line, occupying around 33 miles, he had General Horne’s First Army, with twelve divisions on the front and four in reserve; a portion of the central and southern front line, amounting to 28 miles, was occupied by General Byng’s Third Army, with ten divisions in the line and six in reserve; and, last, occupying around 42 miles of front with eleven divisions and three infantry and three cavalry divisions in reserve, was General Sir Hubert Gough’s Fifth Army. Clearly, Gough’s Fifth Army front was the most vulnerable part of the line, but Haig and GHQ believed that due to the much more extensive area to its rear a limited withdrawal and consequent loss of some ground could be tolerated if necessary.

The Principle of War ‘surprise’ has a number of elements. While Ludendorff’s Michael offensive did not embrace it in terms of its location or timing, it most certainly embodied that principle in a tactical sense.

That General Gough’s Fifth Army front was stretched and undermanned is beyond dispute, but two characteristics of his defence of that front exacerbated the problem. The first was the preparation of his defences. Tim Travers disputes the notion that Gough was given little time to construct them:

The difficulty . . . was labour, yet there were 354,577 men specifically available for this task on 1 January 1918 (including 104,739 coloured labourers, and 71,000 prisoners of war), and of course the infantry divisions themselves were also available. With this amount of labour power, it might be expected that reasonable defences could be ready for the anticipated attack in the spring.¹⁶

Travers points out that it took GHQ until 3 March 1918 to allot sufficient labour to Gough’s front; that despite this, Gough told Haig in early February that ‘in another month his front would be strong’; then, incredibly, on 15 February he told Haig that he had no labour; and again, on 8 March, he informed his C-in-C that ‘he had no defences and no labour’.¹⁷

If Gough—and GHQ—had been lethargic in their preparation of the Fifth Army front, then Gough’s emphasis upon his defence of the front or first defensive zone was the second factor that caused his army such difficulties in confronting Michael. By this stage of the Great War, it had become increasingly obvious that the first battle zone of any defence should be lightly held by machine gun posts and patrolling in front of that zone. In the second line of defences were to be found far more extensive interlocking trenches; significant artillery guns; a far greater preponderance of machine guns; and massed infantry. The rear or third zone contained the reserve, ready for a reinforcement of the battle zone or possible counter-attack.

By an insistence on deploying his strength at the front zone—especially in terms of his machine guns—Gough unwittingly exposed himself to the very attribute of surprise that Ludendorff and Bruchmüller had planned. The German ‘hurricane’ bombardment, followed by the elite Sturmtruppen advance of massed machine gun and flamethrower assaults on Gough’s front zone, and the sheer rapidity of it, would all cause that first British battle zone to break up into panic and confusion, with command, control and coordination lost. Once through it, the Germans would take ground, and take it rapidly and in great quantity.

The fact that Field Marshal Haig was oblivious to the potential disaster about to unfold is best illustrated by his diary on 5 March:

I also told the Army Commanders that I was very pleased at all I had seen on the fronts of the three Armies which I had recently visited . . . I was only afraid that the enemy would find our front so very strong that he will hesitate to commit his Army to the attack with the almost certainty of losing very heavily.¹⁸

***

At the tactical level, Ludendorff’s Michael offensive (21 March to 5 April 1918) imposed a massive reverse upon the Allies, and, primarily, the BEF. In some sixteen days the Germans captured around 1200 square miles of territory (including the old Somme battlegrounds taken at such great cost by the BEF two years earlier); the British lost around 85 000 killed or wounded; a further 75 000 men became POWs; over 1000 guns were lost; and, by destroying or capturing much of the Fifth Army’s front zone posts, and a number of similar Third Army posts, large numbers of machine guns were also lost.

But from a strategic perspective, Michael failed because the Germans were unable to gain either of their objectives. When Arras was not taken and the BEF pushed northwards, Ludendorff pushed his strength westwards towards Amiens, where, it was hoped, he might cripple the railway system, disrupt the supply of the BEF and also drive a wedge between that force and the French. Although the Germans struck within some ten miles of that transport hub, and were able to shell it, they did not—thanks in a significant measure to the Australian and French defence of Villers-Bretonneux—gain their objective. In the end, Michael failed because of a breakdown of logistics: the Germans outran their ability to adequately supply their troops, and to maintain their artillery dominance. Ian Brown has best summed up this German logistical failure: ‘[Michael] . . . forced the troops to march and fight at substantial distances from their railheads . . . Sheer fatigue and outstripped rear-area services do not reflect well on the German staffs of the time, nor does the lack of a coherent plan of campaign.’¹⁹ The German offensive quite simply ran out of steam because of this ‘sheer fatigue’ and lack of adequate support. Forced to pause, the Germans gave the BEF time to reorganise, then to stall and eventually halt the offensive.

Despite the fluid nature of its withdrawal, no such logistical paralysis occurred within the BEF. Ian Brown gives us a striking example of the BEF’s superior logistical performance:

The BEF expended an enormous quantity of ammunition in the spring, which greatly taxed the lines of communication. In the three weeks following the launch of the Michael offensive, the artillery used just short of 5.5 million 18-pounder and nearly 1.5 million 4.5 [inch] howitzer shells. This represented nearly the total number of 18-pounder shells available to the BEF just prior to the Somme offensive twenty-one months previously. During April, 725 ammunition trains ran to the front—nearly as many as ran during the whole five months of the Somme offensive.²⁰

But the startling fact Brown reveals is that, other than 9.2-inch Howitzer shells, the British production of these shells exceeded their substantial and concentrated use during Michael. The same phenomenon applied to its guns: although 859 were lost in the first week of the offensive, the BEF still held a surplus of guns (except 12-inch Howitzers). Brown gives us a telling conclusion: ‘This reflected not only the increased production in England but also better ability to keep and maintain stocks on the lines of communication for just such an eventuality.’²¹

It will be remembered that both Haig and Pétain had rejected two of the Supreme War Council initiatives upon its formation in late 1917: the creation of a central reserve and the appointment of an Allied Commander-in-Chief. Both had pledged to come to the aid of the other should the German offensive threaten the dislocation of the two national forces.

When Gough’s Fifth Army front collapsed and Ludendorff shifted his focus to the Amiens front, Haig, who had most of his reserves in the area north of Arras, appealed to Pétain for reinforcements. They were slow in coming. When Pétain admitted to Haig that he was contemplating swinging his left flank back to cover Paris, because he believed that the main German attack had not yet materialised, a crisis ensued. Haig recorded that: ‘Pétain struck me as very much upset, almost unbalanced and most anxious.’²² On 25 March, to avoid the calamity of a splitting of the French and BEF armies, Haig requested that the CIGS, General Wilson, and Lord Milner (Secretary of State for War) should come to France immediately to ‘arrange that General Foch or some determined General who would fight, should be given supreme control of the operations in France’.²³

On 26 March 1918, a conference was held at Doullens (about 15 miles north of Amiens). Representing the French were President Poincaré, Premier Clemenceau and Generals Pétain, Foch and Weygand, while the British representatives were Lord Milner, Haig and Generals Wilson, Lawrence and Montgomery. Those gathered eventually saw the need for a supreme commander on the Western Front and identified General Foch as the soldier to lead the Allies. Haig noted that ‘Foch seemed sound and sensible but Pétain had a terrible look.’²⁴ Foch’s appointment would prove an astute decision, as he had two priceless qualities that were drastically needed for the challenge ahead. First, he had that rare ability to engage in coalition warfare: he could see past the exclusive interests of just his own country and army, and perceive and fight an allied war (which was, of course, in the long-term interests of his country). Second, he had the admirable personality traits of resolution, perseverance and inspiring optimism.

Ample proof of Foch’s above-mentioned qualities was the almost immediate order to Pétain to fast-track the deployment of French First Army divisions to the line north of the Oise River, and to immediately create a strong reserve near Amiens, manned by a further number of French divisions. Foch knew that the real threat was to Amiens and therefore that there was potential for the dislocation of the union of the French and BEF front, as well as the BEF’s logistics capacity.

Thus, Michael had seen the first German spring offensive launched against the BEF’s Fifth and Third Army front in the Somme area; April 1918 saw the second major operation concentrated upon Lys in Flanders; and the third occurred in May on the Aisne, where a number of recuperating British divisions were badly mauled. In all this, the AIF added fresh laurels to an already impressive Western Front record at or near Hébuterne, Dernancourt, Albert, Morlancourt and Hazebrouck. And burnt forever into Australian military folklore were the two actions at Villers-Bretonneux: the first (4 April 1918) saw the German attack there first blunted after an initial break-through, and then a brilliant counter-attack that restored the situation; and the second, after the German capture of that village on 24 April, in one of the most extraordinary and audacious feats of arms during the war—on the eve of the fourth Anzac Day—the 13th and 15th Brigades, AIF, counter-attacked and re-took Villers-Bretonneux. During the period March–April 1918, the AIF sustained some 15 000 casualties.

Ludendorff’s final offensive was checked at the Second Battle of the Marne (15 July to 6 August 1918). After initial impressive gains threatening Paris, the Germans were finally thrust back to where their offensive had begun, costing some 95 000 French, 13 000 British and 12 000 American casualties. But the Germans paid a heavier price: around 165 000 casualties. For all the seemingly impressive territorial gains, Ludendorff’s spring offensives had been finally blunted, and his strategic aims comprehensively denied. The initiative had now passed to Foch and the Allies.

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Given the unprecedented slaughter and seeming futility of the massive confrontations on the Western Front—particularly during 1916 and 1917—followed by the stunning Allied reversals during the German spring offensives of 1918, the consequent rapid and spectacular transformation from despair to victory in a mere 100 days is extraordinary. We have chronicled the divisions between the